"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." ― Franklin D. Roosevelt.
District 1 Reapings: Decin Stage (18) and Romina Stone (17)
Decin Stage's smile is the exception.
Most of his features are matured: his pronounced cheekbones, defined eyebrows, cold and calculating blue eyes. But his smile is the anomaly.
It is boyish, crooked and infantile. It gives a small breath of mischievousness to his otherwise sophisticated appearance. What's most perplexing is that in place of his right canine is a gold tooth.
And that particular gold tooth of Decin's shimmers brilliantly in the sun as he grins. It matches the stud in his ear.
Decin lifts the gun, and squints his left eye shut. After a moment of studying the dog across from him, he turns to the boy beside him.
"If I kill it, you owe me," Decin says.
"Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. I'll do anything you want," Bjorn replies. "I promise."
"And you're sure your parents won't find out?"
"Positive."
Bjorn's answer seems to satisfy Decin. And Decin brings his attention back to the dog. The animal heaves a rather human sigh, dropping its head into the grass once again.
"Stupid lazy ass," Bjorn comments. "Thinks it can shit in my bed and bite my hand. Well it's dead wrong."
Decin can't help the chuckle that slips from his lips. Bjorn has never been one to get along with his household pets. But actually asking Decin to shoot his dog is a first. It's not like Decin minds, anyway.
Decin squints once again, taking aim at the dog's forehead.
"What color you think its brains will be?" Decin asks.
"Pink. Like all brains."
Decin shakes his head. "Not all brains are the same color. Some are lighter, almost white. Some are dark, just shy of purple."
"Yeah. Whatever. I guess."
Decin pulls the trigger. And with a loud bang, and a particularly vile spurt of pink liquid (Bjorn got the color of the dog's brain right), the animal collapses into a limp mass. Blood pours from its head.
"Oh, gross."
"Looks like fruit punch," Decin says, snickering.
"The dog?"
"No the blood, idiot."
"Right," Bjorn replies. "Because the dog looks like your dad."
"Hey!"
Bjorn falls into a fit of giggles.
Decin stares at the dog's corpse for a moment. He approaches the animal, delicately avoiding the puddle of blood. He kneels down next to the dog.
"You're right. It does kind of look like my dad."
Decin points the gun at the animal's belly and pulls the trigger a second time. With another loud bang, the dog's stomach opens and out shoots more of the crimson liquid. A fleck of blood ends up on Decin's nose. He doesn't notice.
"For good measure," Decin says, just before shooting the dog once more.
"You're sick," Bjorn says.
Decin throws his head back, laughing.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Decin drops the gun immediately, spinning around. His father stands behind him, wearing an expression so livid his grey eyes seem to quiver in their sockets.
"Nothing. Just-" Decin starts.
"I'm sorry," Bjorn interrupts. "Decin wanted to practice his aim for the Hunger Games. I was willing to sacrifice my dog."
Decin's jaw drops, and he glares at his friend. "That's not what happened. Bjorn asked me to-"
"Shut up!" Mr. Stage screams at his son. "Bjorn, you can leave. I have to speak Decin." The man's gaze doesn't once leave Decin's even as he adresses Bjorn.
Bjorn gladly hurries away. He does feel slightly ashamed about throwing Decin under the bus like he did. But, everyone knows Mr. Stage isn't completely right in the head. And getting into trouble with that man never bodes well.
Mr. Stage grabs the gun. His nostrils flare.
"I told you never to touch my gun," he says.
"I know."
"I told you never to TOUCH MY GUN!" Mr. Stage screams the last three words.
Decin remains silent. He gazes into his father's eyes, anticipating the punch he's going to receive. He only hopes his father avoids his face. He doesn't want to make his debut in front of Panem with a black eye.
Mr. Stage doesn't lift a hand. Instead he lifts the gun. He presses the tip into Decin's chest.
For a moment, Decin truly believes his father will pull the trigger. He raises an eyebrow at the man.
"Are you scared?" Mr. Stage asks his son.
Decin grins. His gold tooth glints. "You know I'm not afraid of anything," he replies.
The man drops the gun to his side. His expression softens. Decin thinks he catches a second of pride in his father's face. But it is gone before Decin even has the chance to savor it.
"I trust you have mulled over my proposition," Zythe says. The 6 foot 7 man has situated himself in front of the only exit to the training center.
Romina nods, tipping her head back so she can look up at Zythe. Romina's usually effortless smile freezes on her lips.
"Well?" Zythe leans forward, awaiting Romina's answer. "What do you think?"
After a moment of hesitation, Romina responds.
"I'll volunteer," she says. Her tone remains completely apathetic, yet her eyes emit a frenzied panic. Zythe takes the look in her eyes to be a sign of bloodlust, of determination; the man has never been particularly good at reading people's emotions.
"I was hoping you would come around," he mutters, a goofy grin taking over his expression. "You know you're the best girl I've trained. You really have the talent to win."
"Thanks," Romina replies.
Upon hearing Romina's gratitude, Zythe starts into a speech about the prestige, the respect, which one can only obtain through becoming victor. Romina has heard it all before. She has heard the same speech from her parents, her teachers, her classmates.
She thinks such a mindset is completely juvenile.
Romina excuses herself from the training room, interrupting Zythe mid-lecture.
The girl doesn't go home. Obviously, the last thing she wants is to listen to her father quiz her on possible challenges she might face in the arena.
Romina goes to the one place she calls home: Tobias' basement. It is here that she keeps all her canvas', all her paints. Tobias and his family are more than happy to keep her art-room a secret. Such generous people are a rare breed in District 1.
If her parents knew she was splurging her much needed training time painting, she would probably receive a pretty harrowing slap across the cheek.
But her parents don't realize that even though Romina is incredibly proficient with a bow and arrow, she is truly sensational with a paintbrush.
Romina dumps out a mass of blues, yellows and reds from her paint cartons. She furiously slams her paintbrush against the canvas in front of her. Tobias watches from behind her. He has never seen her paint like this. Usually she is graceful, gentle. But today she paints like she is completely demented.
It doesn't take long for the figure in Romina's painting to become prominent.
"Who's that?" Tobias asks.
"It's me," Romina replies, not tearing her gaze from the canvas. "In the games."
And there she is. Her long blonde hair is flecked with blood. A burn runs from her lips to her temple. But what is most harrowing is her smile. It looks nothing like Romina's customary one. It is damaged, broken.
"You don't have to volunteer," Tobias says.
"I do, though."
"We could run away. Just go to District 2. Your parents wont find you there. I can get a good job."
Romina shakes her head. Tobias is always trying to protect her. But sometimes he can't. If only he could accept this.
Regal Rover has been District 1's escort since the 76th Hunger Games. On this particular spring day, he is positively beaming. Last year's victor from District 1, Theo Rex, is accompanying the man. Regal is sure Theo will act as the perfect mentor.
Regal takes a stance mid-stage. He gives the microphone a few taps, making sure the piece of equipment is to his standards.
"Welcome! I am honored to announce the reapings for the 100th Hunger Games!"
A thunderous round of applause rips through the crowd.
"As you all know," Regal continues. "This is the fourth Quarter Quell. And this evening, President Hans will be announcing a special twist the gamemakers have come up with specially for this Quarter Quell! So remember to watch that at 7 p.m. tonight!"
"8 p.m." Theo Rex corrects the man.
Regal is silent for a moment. He shoots Theo a rather peeved look before continuing. "This evening at 8 p.m. President Hans has promised me that this year will be the most entertaining Quarter Quell to date! Now, I don't want to beat around the bush. Let's get down to business!"
District 1 offers Regal a supply of whistles and shouts as he sticks his hand into the bowl of girls' names to his right.
"And the female tribute is…" he has some difficulty opening the folded piece of paper. "Megan Kanta!"
"I volunteer!" Romina shouts. Her voice comes off as confident, despite her weary temperament.
"Well, come on up here girl!" Regal squeals.
Romina hurries to stage. She nods in greeting to Theo and shakes Regal's hand.
"Can I get a name?" Regal asks.
"My name is Romina Stone."
The escort wiggles his eyebrows. "Nice to meet you, Romina!"
Romina smiles. Her grey eyes are vacant. Yet, her grin is absolutely brilliant.
For a moment she dissociates herself from the situation. She does not notice a crowd full of bloodthirsty civilians, nor does she notice the line of peacekeepers, nor the ominous context of the entire situation. Romina only perceives the colors. And for this one moment, she is content.
"Who is ready to meet our lucky boy?!" Regal asks.
The crowd whistles and cheers. Even Romina claps, presenting a gleeful laugh.
Regal pulls out a boy's name. "Tyson Grey-"
"I volunteer!"
The voice seems to radiate through the air. It takes Romina (along with the cameras) a moment to find the boy that the voice belongs to.
The boy struts to stage, taking his sweet time. He has quite a striking appearance—one not of the average career. He is handsome, no doubt, but not in the muscular, movie-star way tributes from District 1 tend to be. Romina thinks he almost resembles a very glamorous pirate.
The boy rolls the right sleeve of his expensive leather jacket up, revealing a tattoo that runs from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder. His dirty-blonde hair is gelled back, yet one loose strand falls neatly across his forehead. He grins, flashing his brilliantly bright gold tooth.
He gladly accepts the mike from Regal and says, "The name is Decin Stage."
His charm and confidence award him no shortage of applause.
"What's your tattoo say?" Regal asks.
"Just some words of inspiration," Decin says. He reads off a couple of the phrases on his arm. "Blood never looked so beautiful…"
Romina's stomach tenses up as she recognizes the phrases tattooed on Decin's arm. The boy's arm is covered with the last words of the past 18 Hunger Games victors. One for every year of Decin's life.
"And one of my personal favorites," Decin continues. "As said by the honorable Theo Rex: District 1 always wins."
District 2's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days. Please pop in a review. Feedback nurtures my muse.